


The Peacock Prince

by InsominiacArrest



Category: Original Work
Genre: Curses, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, UST, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsominiacArrest/pseuds/InsominiacArrest
Summary: A young man is banished to a vast garden to spend the rest of his days, cursed to grow peacock feathers from his skin and walk the grounds.A wandering soldier is charged by the neighboring town to fetch three feathers: one for health, two for luck, and three for wealth. Unfortunately, plucking the feathers off a reluctant peacock-boy is not as easy as it sounds.





	1. The Gardens

One for Health

_This place could be beautiful._

That’s his first thought when he steps out onto the white marble stones of the path, it could be beautiful. Beautiful like a quick whiff of winter air or a glistening slick sidewalk after it rains, shiny, brilliant, almost shocking.

He slashes through the nearest vine creeping by his left foot and stomps on it, it would be beautiful.  _If everything here didn’t want to poison and/or eat him._

The garden Parthenius was said to stretch from the lakes of Tev to the gleaming shores of the Lindom ocean beyond. But that was just a rumor and he doubted something could be so large. Daven tells himself anyway that a garden was just a garden, and an assignment is just an assignment.

The air smells of fragrant honey and hydrangea bushes, Daven covers his nose and keeps his eyes focused forward. A vine stirs beneath his foot but he ignores it as he takes another turn in the endless corridors of the open-air garden.

Vibrant green bushes flank either side of him with pure white crumbling marble walls beneath, streaked with age and inlined with silver. Cupids and angels and chipped and broken statues styled after ‘the masters’ stood at every entrance.

Daven doesn’t follow the overwhelming scents of fresh rain and cut grass, he knows no one is cutting grass here. He could hear birds up ahead, the twinkling sound of songbirds mixing with the honks of swans and brays of ravens farther in.

Daven turns his head slightly when he spots the large unblinking eyes of a crow, it’s feathers were milk white and eyes a splitting red. It’s white feathers ruffle and it watches him with a bloody intensity.

He shivers, it was said King Cephissus bread every albino animal he could get his hands on.

Pure, fresh he called them, untouched by darkness. Daven takes another step around a pool of unnaturally blue water and keeps his head down. His footsteps sound like the barks of hound dogs in a hen house but he doesn’t sense anything following him yet.

Getting past the white panther was one feat, but he was told that was the easy part. Daven quickly surveys each new garden archway he passes, studying the faces of the clean-shaven cupids.

“Seven,” he mutters to himself, “seven and a deer.”

That’s what the hunter told him, ten turns in and fifteen paces forward. The calling of the birds increases as he eases toward the shadow of the sun in the west, the hairs on his arms were still standing on end.

“Seven,” he ducks down beneath a long hanging branch, “seven and a deer.”

He cuts down another green vine that twitches as he approaches and jumps over a pool of bright blue acid that was dissolving a small white hare in it. Daven purses his lips and doesn’t look back as he sees the pathway start to open up.

“Seven,” he makes sure the sun is still high in the sky, “seven. And a deer.” The path opens up into a vast archway that rivaled some of the trees in height. His eyebrows raise and he starts to count. “One,” he whispers, “two, three, four…”

Seven cherub faces. And a deer in the very center that’s antlers had fallen off long ago, Daven draws his sword from his waist and crouches lower to the ground. His eyes shift back and forth as he scans the ground and the rustling of the nearby bushes, taking neat slow steps.

He takes a deep breath and creeps quietly over the hard marble path.

Grass sprouts up in patches around the area and bushes grow wild with clean white roses covering them nearby, he sees the marble fountain at the center of the garden square. It must be central location since the fountain is enormous, with a scantily clad chipped woman pouring water down as it’s centerpiece.

Daven wants to whistle at it and the ornate benches surrounding the fountain, but he wasn’t dumb enough to draw attention to himself that easily. He rounds the square, eyeing each new plant and small bird overhead.

The sparrows are stark white dots up above and Daven starts to tense again, his muscles bunching up and nerves coiling, the adrenaline builds in his veins. He sees on giant oak tree at the corner of the square, enormous and untamed.

The branches are heavy with leaves and he can see some of the roots forcing their way up in the cracking marble around it.

He crouches lower to the ground and starts to inch forward, the Hunter said this is where he first found the creature. Daven’s eyes trail up and down the trunk, scanning the leaves and tangled arms of the tree. It takes him a minute, but he pauses mid-stride when he sees it, an eye, a bright green eye with a plume surrounding it.

He breathes through his nose, the eye of a peacock feather.

“Hark,” He raises his sword toward the branches, “creature of the Poison Garden, of the Fair Ones, of King Cephissus’s curse, listen to my words and yield.”

Daven felt silly even saying this outloud, but the townspeople were certain this was the only way, even the children’s play included this bit.

“Bend to the will of man with these words, be tamed and bequeath your riches to the outside world. Tetamitus-”

“Bequeath?” He hears a clear, rasping voice. “Did they send me a royal clown this time?”

Daven hears a gentle thump and sees something drop down to the ground next to the tree, landing tipsily and dusting itself off before standing up straight. Daven takes a long moment to pause, his body going stiff and thoughts bursting. It wasn’t pure white, but it wasn’t what Daven was expecting either. It had a face for one thing.

“Uh,” he blinks a couple times, “dimatia, sviva, kuji-”

“Okay, so now you’ve turned to gibberish.” The strange boy waves his hand in the air, “Excellent, please escort yourself out when you’re finished.”

Daven’s brow furrows, “exodus, felicitus, kestrener.”

The figure was still standing there, he had on a fine blue vest and pair of brown pants that seemed tailored and fitted. He had a white pressed shirt tied all the way up past his throat and a line of brass buttons down his front.

He was noticeably barefoot with sun-kissed skin and fair hair that curled gently on top of his head. It was also noticeably well-maintained.

But that wasn’t the main aspect Daven was focusing on. Mostly it was the arch of feathers bursting from his skin and hanging over his head like a halo.

Green, long, feathers that stuck directly out of his skin and made an arch over him, tiny ones framed his hairline and brought out the poison green of his eyes.

Daven shifts from foot to foot, “oi,” he changes tactics, “are you the peacock fellow?”

The boy raises both eyebrows and tilts his head to the side, his eyes glance pointedly up at his own feathers and then back at him. He sniffs, “No.” He responds dryly and Daven makes a face.

“Okay,” Daven shakes his head, “Scratch that. Are you the one with the magic feathers at least?”

The boy wrinkles his brow and looks ready to turn away, Daven notes the long trail of feathers behind him that dragged against the ground. “No. I’m a regular peacock, squawk, squawk, please exit the garden to your left.”

Daven looks off the side and takes a step toward him, the boy watches him carefully, eyes following him with a quick hardness to them.

“Let’s try this again,” he tries for a smile, “My name is Daven, I’m a soldier.” He sheathed his sword and approaches with his hands up, “I’m not here to fight…”

“Fascinating,” the boy picks at a scab on his hand. “The sword is for making friends I take it.”

He could have rolled his eyes, “a precaution,” he says simply, “I have my sword…” He gives him a pointed look, “and you have an awful lot of feathers.”

“Well Daven,” he says slowly, “you are very observant. And less dead then most people that come in this way.”

He cocks his head to the side, “Yes?”

“You should keep it that way,” he says with a wicked grace coming over his placid features. “What do you want?”

He hums loudly, “the question is…” He looks him up and down, “what do you want?”

The boys gaze focuses on him, “What do you have?”

He reaches for his belt, “I have money.”

He snorts, loudly, “And pray tell,” The boy places his hands on his hips, “what use do I have for money?”

Daven open and closes his mouth, “shoes?” He offers weakly as he looks down.

The tuts and shakes his head, “Well Daven, I’m Ellis. I don’t need your money, and unless you’re a shoemaker I’m not getting any shoes.” He waves his hand in the air as if to shoo him, “so kindly fuck off.”

Daven grips his sword a little tighter, “happily,” he puts a hand out, “for one feather.”

The boy rolls his eyes with great dramatics, “absolutely not.”

“You can’t be using all of them,” he takes another step forward and the boy, Ellis, takes another step back.

“Look, while I’m impressed you made it this far in,” he examines him with a sniff, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding trespassers. Or giving my things away really.”

 _Maybe that’s why you’re a bird now._ He doesn’t say that.

“Do you own this place?”

The boy gives a short harsh laugh, “ask me more dumb questions.”

“If no one owns it, then I’m not trespassing, in fact,” he puts a finger in the air, “I’m a guest.”

The boy cracks a smile, but it’s not a happy one, “absolutely sound logic, I’ll be on my way now. Make yourself at home, the guest room is the second door on the left.”

Daven rolls his eyes this time, “haha.”

“See? I’ve even entertained you, I always was a great host.”

“You’re not even using all of them!” He throws his hands in the air and Ellis just regards him flatly.

“I’m done with this,” he turns around and Daven tenses before lunging for him, Ellis jumps away and jerks his head up. “Oi!”

Daven lunges for his tail, “Just one.”

Ellis starts running, looking over his shoulder with a sharp glare, “I will have this place eat you.”

Daven pauses for a moment before running after him, “it already tried.”

He dodges back and forth, “I’ll make it try harder,” he bears his teeth, but Daven was already in pursuit.

“Just one! I bet it won’t even hurt,” he jumps over a blue acid puddle and watches the peacock boy jump onto one of the benches to avoid him.

“For you maybe,” he scowls down at him, “all you noble sorts are the same.” He spit the words and Daven makes a face.

“Noble?” He cocks his head to the side, “well that’s the first time I’ve been called that.”

Ellis’s eyebrow twitches, “excuse me, not noble, ‘knight-wannabe’.”

Daven gaze becomes hard, “I’m getting that feather.”

“Not on your life,” the boy hops away again and they begin a somewhat absurd cat-and-mouse game as Ellis runs down a path and Daven sprints after him.

“You can’t run!” He cries as he runs and his lungs start to burn a little bit.

“Then what am I doing?” The boy flashes a smarmy smile over his shoulder and takes a hard left.

“Don’t think you can’t g,” he skids to a stop to follow him, nearly avoiding a snapping vine thrusting out to snag him. He jumps over it and his eyes go wide. “Aha!” He cries out and points toward the vine.

“Yes!” He crows in triumph as he sees the boy’s long tail had gotten snagged in the bush as well. A single long feather had dropped. “Hahahaha!” He says again somewhat manically and feels like dancing.

He sees the boy peek out from around the next corner, “this doesn’t mean an-”

“You thought you were so smart,” he takes his sword out and slashes at the vines to get at the feather, “look at that!”

The boy narrows his eyes at him, “don’t cream your pants over it. It’s rude to show stranger’s your bedroom face.”

Daven frowns decidedly at him, “I’m going to enjoy taking this feather from you I hope you know.”

“Oh bet you will,” he bounces his eyebrows up and down, “I bet you’ll enjoy yourself a lot with it.”

Daven wrinkled his nose, tearing at the vines and making it drop the feather into his outstretched hand, “On that note, I’m definitely leaving now.”

He waves, “don’t come back.”

“And it isn’t for me,” Daven defends, “this is for the whole village. So… yeah.” He turns around, his face screwing up as he worked himself up.

“Yes, yes, a very good wannabe knight.” He sings and waves after him, “have fun.” He drags the word out and Daven shakes his head.

He growls but doesn’t look back as he makes his way back toward the front of the garden. A white hyena tries to spring on him on the way and two pit traps are tripped on his way back. Daven just sidesteps them and secretly hopes he’ll never have to come back here, sure, it was pretty.

A pretty mess, but not quite beautiful enough to be worth dying over.


	2. The Boy

PART 2

_Two for Luck_

Daven looks into the sallow face of a woman well into her 80s, deep worry lines and valleys painted across her face, wrinkles that stretched in all directions and mapped her face like a geographic print.

She smiles up with a guileless toothless grin, “but you got the other one so easily.”

Daven’s shoulder slump and he has a bad feeling about this, “I fought several wild animals… And it was mostly luck I found the boy in the first place.”

She shakes her withered head, “I have a good feeling about you.”

 _Then why is your town blackmailing me?_  He doesn’t bring that up.

“The one feather was very long,” he tries to say with his hands stuffed into his pockets. A young woman in an apron and long dark blue dress nods. She has honey curls and a face that was round and sharp in all the right angles.

“And we ground it up and fed it to the sick,” she smiles prettily, “It was a heroic deed. A good one, all five were up and walking just today.”

Daven opens and closes his mouth uselessly, “don’t mention it?” He says instead with a slight wince.

“But now,” her face falls, “the fields are thirsty. Dry. You’ve seen them young soldier, they grow sick as well.”

Daven suddenly deeply empathizes with alley cats backed into a corner, “it was a rough harvest, sure.”

Her eyes get large, like puppy dog eyes or black holes, old mother Henri makes a deep rumbling sound in her throat. “Two,” she says with a rough rasp, “for luck.”

Daven frowns decidedly, “why… two?”

Both the women tut at him, “two is the second most powerful number.” Mary Lee informs him with her hip jutted out. “It will be enough.”

Daven gives a deep heaving sigh, “I can’t keep ripping feathers out of this guy. He’s got some dark magic on him, who knows what will happen if I piss him off again…” He trails off as he realizes he isn’t making much headway with the two villagers.

The women just smile placidly again, “two for luck.” Mother Henry says.

Mary Lee nods, “we can grind them up and sprinkle them over the soil.” Her eyes soften, “it would be another hero’s deed.”

Daven’s shoulders fall and he accepts the inevitable, “isn’t there…?” He takes a deep breath, “I mean, someone else must be able to,” he struggles for the words.

“It’s you,” the old woman declares shortly, “you were brought to us for a reason.”

_Was that reason a directionless horse?_

He pushes his hair back and sighs, “Okay,” he looks between the village representatives, “I mean… I did it once, right?” He laughs weakly and watches the women share a small smile.

He grimaces, Mary Lee turns and wraps something up for him. “Here,” she passes it to him, “for your troubles.”

He holds a loaf of bread and imagines himself as an errand boy getting tipped for delivering letters to a warzone. But they were still looking at him with a kind of faith, hope he even. He has nothing else to do but turn around and start walking.

The Garden was said to spread from the lakes of Dev all the way to the outer coast. Daven feels like he’s looking for trouble by walking back into it, but he is terribly bad at saying no and terribly afraid of what would happen if he did.

———————————–

“Here birdie, birdie, birdie,” Daven throws some bread on the ground, “I have some good news for you.”

He tosses the bread crumbs into the air, not without a sense of irony of course. “It’s only a little exchange.” He says loudly and wanders into the seven cherubs square (as he is calling it). He goes up to the great oak tree and rustles some of the branches with his sword before coming up empty.

“Here birdie!” He sings and sprinkles more bread crumbs, some of them land in a puddle and start dissolving. He whistles and makes a kissy face at the trees. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

It’s quiet except for the distant sound of bird calls and the wind whipping through the numerous corridors of the garden. His skin crawls as it always did in this place, earlier Daven looked for the Hunter he found the first time just outside the walls, but hadn’t had any luck this time.

“Ellis!” He tries again, “I have both shoes and a better attitude for you!”

He hears nothing, keeping his eyes on the nearest wall to make sure it doesn’t grow spikes, “and more money, I finally thought of something you can do with it!”

He takes a left turn back into the endless open-air halls and starts whistling again, “here birdie, birdie.”

Daven is internally groaning and considering his chances of leaving the province of Tefle and running as far away as he possibly can. He hears a rustling behind him instead.

He reaches for his sword.

“Do you have a death wish?” Daven pauses as he recognizes the snide voice, drifting down from up above.

“Ah,” he stands up straight and places his own self-assured smile on, “knew you couldn’t stay away.”

A boy with large ornate feathers fanned out around him was standing on the wall above him, “one step closer and I’ll jump off the other side and you’ll never find me again.” He says coolly as he stands with his arms folded over his chest and stance wide on the ledge.

Daven lifts his chin and studies the boy’s sharp, curious features, they were small and crafted, like something was purposeful or thought-out about them. He had a small nose and a pronounced mouth that curved up or down on a whim and seemed to connect together all his other features.

Ellis narrows his green eyes, “well?”

Daven dusted himself off, “I’m not trying the magic words this time.”

“Well thank god,” he says slowly, “I would have let you keep walking around here like an idiot you know.”

Daven frowns slightly, “something change?”

Ellis hums and looms over him, “bad decision making.” A shadow falls over his face, “and curiosity. You finally thought of something I can do with the money?” He gives an easy grin, “I’m intrigued.”

Daven clears his throat, “yes.” He grins back, “the question is, of course, if gold coins agree with your stomach.”

Ellis rolls his eyes spectacularly, “I’m not a dragon.”

“I have bread then.”

“Wow, of course,” he tuts, “you’re lucky I’m a forgiving man after that ‘birdie’ nonsense.”

Daven bounces his eyebrows up and down, “I thought you might like that.”

He makes a face at him, “ah, am I that easy to read?”

He puts a hand out, “if you gave me your feathers, for a good cause that is, it’d be a lot less easy.”

He blows a stray strand of white-blonde hair out of his face, “why’s that?”

Daven puts on a somber expression, “good people don’t get cursed.”

Ellis’s expression pinches, “you’re really winning yourself over with this one,” he moves to turn around, “I really don’t know why I bother.”

“Wait,” Daven fumbles for his pack, “all in good fun, all in good fun. I have something for you.”

“I don’t eat gold coins for God’s sake,” he waves his hand in the air, “but I am considering soldiers and their poor social graces right now.” He bares his shiny white teeth and Daven shakes his head.

“You are a gracious and good Peacock lord, I’m sorry.”

“Watch it,” the boy says carefully, “180s like that can make one dizzy.”

He takes a deep breath in, “alright, so I’m not good at this,” he lifts something out of his pack, “but I do have these.”

He unwraps a neat pair of shiny black buckled shoes, holding them up to the light, “they’re flexible so they’ll fit a lot of sizes.”

The boy examines him carefully before clearing his throat, “you really think I need shoes?”

Daven frowns slightly, “there’s poison puddles everywhere.” He pauses, “So, yes?”

Ellis shakes his head, “you are as sharp as a blunt sword I see,” the boy kicks the top of the wall lightly, “And I don’t want your bribery.”

“It’s for a good cause!” He hears himself almost whine, “the village people’s crops are dying.”

“Oh no,” Ellis places his hands on his cheeks, “not the village people’s crops.”

Daven’s narrows his eyes, the sun frames the feathers of the strange boy, “spoken like a true peacock prince.”

“Look,” Ellis dances his hand through the air, “there’s always going to be more unhappy villages and bad crop years. And little old ladies who need wishes and young lads who steal your feathers for lasses they want to bang.” He sighs, “I’ve been here a long-time little soldier. And there’s always more people who need things.”

Daven almost went to clap sardonically, “Look, I’m not trying to appeal to your… humanity,” he says the word carefully, rolling it around and feeling out the syllables. “But there must be something you want.”

Ellis looks him up and down, “you’re pretty cocky for a common soldier.”

Daven opens his mouth with a stubborn jut of his jaw, “I’m not entirely common.”  _And I’m no longer entirely a soldier._

“Good then,” Ellis sprouts a rough smile that prickled across Daven’s skin like sandpaper, a manic energy bursting forth like a flood over a levy system. “Take your sword off.”

Daven hesitates for a long second, he holds his iron green gaze for a long moment, “and you’ll give me a feather? Or… I, uh,” he hesitates, “I need two this time.”

Ellis gives a deep sigh, “I know.”

Daven reaches for his sword, holding it tentatively before lifting it carefully out of its sheath and holding it up. “Where do you want it?”

Ellis cocks his head to the side, “place it at my feet.”

Daven scoffs slightly, “of course.”

He approaches carefully, slowly, gently, placing the beat-up, aged thing just below his bare feet at the base of the wall.

“Was it your father’s or anything?” Ellis asks slowly and Daven hums for a second.

“Yes,” he says, keeping hard eye contact with him.

Ellis’s face spreads wide open again, “liar.”

He shrugs, “alright, it’s standard military issue. But does that really matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Ellis leans forward, posing like a tense house cat on the brink of springing. He drops down to the ground and deftly picks the sword up, “I just wanted to know more about you.”

“My name is Daven Porter,” he says carefully, “I’m 22, I have two sisters and a mum. I like pears and have never seen the ocean. And,” he pauses gently for a moment, “I would like two feathers. Please.”

Ellis was still observing him, balancing the sword in his hand and whooshing it just above his head, he gives him a cool look. “The rest of it.”

Daven screws up his face, “the rest of what? That’s my only sword mate.”

Ellis pouts slightly, “the rest of it. I’ll take your belt first.”

Daven’s eyes go wide and his cheeks flare up, “I beg your pardon?”

“Your clothes.” He says the words slowly, mouthing around them and putting his hands on his hips, “honestly, it’s like I’m squawking up here instead of speaking.”

Daven might have smiled if his face wasn’t falling apart like cloth scraps off a beggar, “you can’t be serious.”

Ellis shrugs, “it’s only fair. You want to make me bare and take my feathers. And what good are shoes without the rest of an outfit?”

Daven makes a face at him and takes a step backward, “And then what?” He scowls, “you put on my trousers? Yours look fine.”

“No,” he says slowly, “then I make a nice little fire and you walk home.”

Daven put his hands on his hips, “I’m not walking home naked. Who are you?”

He laughs, “no feathers then!”

Daven takes a deep huffy breath, he turns around and takes a few angry steps away, and then he turns back around again.  _You know what happens if you don’t return with the feathers,_  he thinks to himself.

He groans and buries his face in his hands, “this is mad.”

Ellis chuckles and sings, “An eye for an eye sir.”

He scowls up between his fingers, “It’s not the same.”

Ellis shrugs, “Well, looks like you’re going home empty h-”

“Alright, alright,” He takes one heavy breath that weighed him down like stones in a river bed, he hunches over slightly, “at least turn around.”

He hears a sharp laugh, he imagined his white-blonde curls bouncing. “You watch my feathers fall out and stand there and gawk. It’s only fair.”

“Ugh,” he reaches for his pants, “this is why you’re trapped here.” He says as starts unbuckling, “good people don’t get cursed.”

Ellis waves a hand through the air, “but they do get naked, chop chop.”

“You’re enjoying this,” He fumbles slightly with his belt loop and the end of his shirt for a long moment.

“It’s like drinking nectar,” he says with a smile, “I may even give you the feathers.”

Daven scowls at him, “I will burn this place down if-”

“It’s just a little embarrassment,” he tuts, “and feel free to try. I’d gladly watch this place go up in flames too.” He says the last part with a hint of bright yellow bitterness around the edges.

Daven refuses to look away as he yanks his shirt over his head and then both of his socks off one by one. “Are you even going to wear these shoes?” He says as he puts the two pairs next to each other.

“Absolutely not,” the boy winks, “birdie.”

“You’re the bird,” he grumbles, “and a right bastard.”

“I’ll take it,” he wags a finger in the air, “and feel free to put on a show for the last bit. A had a lass do the same for me in a tavern and it honestly almost got three feathers out of me.”

Daven makes a face at him, “you go to taverns?” He squints, “Like that?”

Ellis’s features become somehow more edged and perplexing, “No. Before I was like this. But I would still have given her anything if she asked, feathers included.”

Daven rolls his eyes, “you’re impossible.”

“And you’re not naked!” He lears over him, “What upsetting evident facts.”

He makes a face at him, “You’re going to die alone.”

“Or in a poison puddle, either one, I won’t complain.”

Daven doesn’t know how to respond to that so he reaches for his pants, he takes a deep breath in and tries not to show the stiffness in his movements and tension building in his shoulders. Make it natural. Normal.

He can’t help it, he looks down at his feet as he wrenches his trousers down.

Ellis at least has the decency not to laugh or jeer or some other bastardly behavior, he just nods. Daven feels the cool breeze whisk between his thighs and thinks a series of uncharitable thoughts toward this garden, all birds, and all bird boys.

He crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance, “happy?”

Ellis just shrugs and looks at his nails, “not really?”

“Oh my God,” he takes a series of deep breaths in through his nose, he thrusts his hand out, “I did what you asked.”

Ellis gives him a cool look, “sure.”

Daven takes a dangerous step forward, “Look, I’d be unsurprised if you’re not a man of your word, but this whole village’s crop are dying and they expect me to-”

“Yes, yes,” Ellis clapped his hands, “give me a second.” He says the last part under his breath, Daven just opens and closes his mouth like an angry snapping turtle.

“I’ll give you ten.” He put his fingers up and started to count, “Ten seconds.” He says loudly, “One… two…”

Ellis rolls his eyes, “I’m not as scared of a man with his trousers down as you might think… but.” He reaches behind him and seems to search around for something on his shoulder blade. He started to pull, “Ugh,” he grunts, “There.”

Daven’s eyes go a little wide, Ellis flinches, brow furrowing and expression pinching, body bunching up as he yanks at something. The boy takes a deep breath and holds a single peacock feather out.

Daven just begrudgingly holds up two fingers, “alright. Thank you.” He clears his throat, “for two that is.” He says pointedly, Ellis just shakes his head.

“Tell them not to plant these,” Ellis grumbles, eyes still strained and colored with something metallic and heated. He pinches something on his back and yanks. “And to sow the fields earlier in the season for God’s sake.”

Daven cocks his head to the side, “Is that your official message?”

Ellis gives a crooked smile as he slowly lifts a second feather in his hand, “no. My official message: ooh, look at this strange man’s willy. Please laugh and cheer at your own discretion.”

Daven huffs and continues to not deliberately think about the cool breeze against his backside. “You make this so much harder than it needs to be.”

Ellis pushes his curled bangs back and examines him, a serene look on his face, “If only I willingly ripped out my own plumage for anyone that asked.” He tilts his head to the side, “it’s such a shame.”

“Okay, okay,” Daven put his hands up, “I get it,” he grits his teeth and puts his hand out, “thank you.”

Ellis considers Daven’s hand for a long moment, a frown line consuming him like a mushroom cloud, ricocheting off taut muscles and frozen joints. He takes one step forward and neatly, tightly let’s go of the two long feathers.

If Daven didn’t know any better he would have thought the boy’s hands were shaking. But then he retracts his hands, wipes them off and lifts his chin up. “They also work as aphrodisiacs, burn salves, table centerpieces, and a cure for blindness.”

Daven lifts his eyebrows, quickly taking a step back and clutching the feathers to his body, “good to know.”

Ellis’s eyes were flicking over him, “so yes, you could also skip town and sell them if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Daven’s shoulders rise, “I wasn’t thinking that.” Or, at least, not right at that second. He scowls and turns around, “if you’d excuse me, I have to go save a village.”

He can feel Ellis’s sunburn of a smile blaze across as his back turns, “you are easy to read too little soldier.”

He waves behind him, “enjoy my sweaty shirt and pants,” He keeps his back completely straight as he looks behind him, “you’re both covered in grime. It’ll suit you.”

Ellis scoffs, “if you come back I will take more than just your clothes next time Mr. Daven.”

“‘Mr’?” He doesn’t turn around as he laughs, “come on now, you’ve seen me naked. No need for the formality.”

He swears he hears a full golden laugh after that, just as he turns around the next corner and tries to disappear. He finally gives in and covers himself as he faces the next stretch of garden and the inevitable mess of walking home like this.

He takes steadying breathes and keeps his eyes off the light, soft plumage in his hands. They were warm, warm and thrumming like something was alive in them.

He doesn’t look back as he leaves the garden for the second time.

——————–

The room smells like heavy smoke, thick ale, and unwashed bodies, a tangible garble of voices carries through the air. Daven’s thoughts were buzzing and he hiccups gently, the room only spins ever so slightly for him.

“A bastard,” he says loudly into the empty air, “a right definition of bastard.”

The garble of voices increases and one old sallow face leans in toward him from across the counter, “so we’ve heard.”

Daven shakes his head, “bloody garden, bloody villagers. Let it burn!”

The man’s lips twitch up, Daven recalls his name might be Bin or something similar. “You won’t be the first person frustrated with that place.” The man spit on the floor, “it’s evil.”

“It’s ugly is what it is,” he takes a deep gulp of his beer, “and petty.” He finishes with another hiccup.

Bin snickers a little bit, another man nearby turns toward him on the bar stool, “I take it you’ve met the prince then?”

Daven’s eyes flick over to the new fellow, “who?”

“The peacock prince,” The man has on a loose red shirt and a brown cap, he had shaggy dark hair and a brazen look to him. “You’ve been calling someone ‘a welt’ for the last hour, so I can only assume.”

Daven raises his eyebrows, “you know him too?” He takes another deep gulp of his beer. “My condolences.”

“Well, I know of him.” The man clarifies, “everyone that lives near that blasted garden does.”

“We should burn it down,” Daven repeats darkly.

“If only!” The man calls, “I did hear though,” his eyes bore squarely into Davens, as if catching them in a glass jar and watching them glow like fireflies, “you got two feathers from the place.”

“From the boy,” Daven finishes his beer.

“I’ve heard of people getting one,” The fellow is fully facing him now, “but I haven’t heard of anyone managing two in years.”

Daven’s face heats up at the memory, he had found a pair of pants drying out on a clothes line, but he had to wait buck-naked in the bushes for hours until he could creep out and claim them.

“Well I did,” he scowls slightly, “and let’s just say after all that I could use another beer.”

The man laughs heartily, “Bin, get this man another drink. On me!”

Daven blinks a couple times and sits up straight, “That’s very nice of you,” he finally focuses on the fellow, he also had a long sword at his hip. “I’m Daven. You?”

“Thatch,” the man puts his hand out, “nice to meet you lad, I expect we have a lot in common.”

Daven takes his hand and shakes, “besides the same tavern?”

He grins, “you seem military.”

Daven sinks into his shoes and tries to keep his face completely neutral. “You too?”

He shrugs, “retired.”

Daven exhales,  _he won’t know._  “Cheers then.”

They clink another round of beers and two of Thatch’s friends come over, he had five men under him and they were guards for hire for the local road. They traveled alongside caravans to keep them safe from robbers.

Daven just nods along and pushes away every thought of Ellis and arrogant flashes of his liquid green eyes. He’d done his job, he’d delivered the two feathers to Mary Lee. They’d have a dinner in his honor the next day, it was over.

He is focusing on that and not the idea of whatever his shoes and socks were doing right now.

He nods again as Thatch says his name.

“So, you see Ferin, our new friend Daven here,” there it was, “broke into the gardens and managed to get not one, but two of those blasted feathers.”

Daven wipes his mouth, “I don’t plan to do it again.” He clarifies and gave a small smile. “I’m retired.”

Thatch just grins and puts a mighty hand on his shoulder, “Wouldn’t ask you to, just a good story.”

He hums, “hopefully it will be just a good story soon.” He exhales, “with a happy ending if those fields start growing in.”

“Oh they will,” Ferin, an older man with a deep scar over his right eye says. “They always do once you put a little blessing in ‘em.”

“Blessing?” Daven’s head is swimming, he tries to drag himself back to the present like hauling a dead body through a swamp.

Ferin nods and his companion gives a low grunt, “curses come wit’ blessings, that’s how the witch worked.”

Daven sits up completely straight and looks both directions, “don’t tell me there’s a witch here too.” It almost sounds like a long whine.

“Not anymore,” Thatch smiles good-naturedly, he winks, “she’s retired.”

Daven still doesn’t like the sound of that, “so she’s the one that made that place.” He says bitterly, “and… him I take it.”

Thatch scratches his chin, “it’s a little… fuzzy. But close enough.”

“I heard that prissy prince tried to bed the witch’s daughter so she created that ugly maze for him to be trapped in.”

“No no, the garden was separate,” Ferin says steadily, “that was all for the mad King Cephissus, for his arrogance for trying to create a place more beautiful than the Gods.”

“The witch was no God,” Yeezus, the big fellow, says with a frown. “Just demons and curses this way out. Demons and curses.”

Ferin put a finger up, “and blessings. That’s how the witch worked.”

Daven hiccups gently and tries to follow all the back and forth, “so he… hit on the witch’s daughter?” He tries to piece it all together like threading a needle through a cluster of nettles.

“That’s what the bards say.” They all agree with a nod.

“I heard he tried to have all the peacocks in the whole kingdom exterminated for being more beautiful than him,” Thatch says slowly. “That’s why he got those feathers.”

Yeezus chuckles, “I heard it was just for being a cocky little shit.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Daven finishes what felt like his fifth beer. He hoped the party for him tomorrow would be a quiet one for his head’s sake.

“Preening’ and flirting and opening his legs to anyone that will take an arrogant blue blood-”

“Yes yes,” Thatch waves his hand dismissively. “But those feathers.” The man strokes his short beard. “It’s a shame he isn’t… reformed.”

Daven leans down on the sticky counter and closes his eyes, “Good people don’t get cursed,” he says slowly with a yawn, “so I wouldn’t hold your breath on reform.”

Thatch pats his shoulder, “you should rest up, I hear you’re a hero.”

He wipes at his eyes, “for now.” He groans into the counter, “until they ask again.”

Daven doesn’t completely remember the rest of the night.

—————————-

_Three for Wealth_

Daven curls up into himself, his head pounds like a great wave crashing through his temples every few seconds. “Oh my God,” he covers his face and groans deeply as he hears tickles of noise outside.

_Bam bam_

Daven reluctantly turns over in bed at the thumping and grasps for his short sword, he’s scowling when he comes up empty. Right.

_Bam bam_

He glances at the barn door and narrows his eyes at the large wooden door, it was painted with a fine red sealant and its windows were glazed over. Daven collapses forward into a ball and takes a moment to gather himself.

_Bam bam_

He forces his eyes open and calls out, “who is it?”

“It’s just us good sir,” Mary Lee calls out, probably referring to the rest of the village representatives as well.

Daven scrubs his face furiously before reaching for his shirt and edging closer to the end of his loft. “Good morning.” He tries to not sound like he was about to find out the contents of his stomach at that very moment.

The air shimmers with his own headache and he wobbles upright, “how may I help you good lady?” He calls through the door and tries to sound like he didn’t hate himself a little bit for phrasing it that way.

Mary Lee clears her throat from outside, “we were hoping to talk to you.”

_Oh no._

He considers reaching for his sword again.

He blanches and wishes they at least gave him 42 hours before asking again. “May I get dressed for you first my lady?”

“Oh yes,” she says quickly, “it’s nothing pressing. It’s just about upgrading you to different accommodations.”

He manages a smile, “oh,” he blinks, “oh yes. That might be nice.”

Mary Lee laughs warmly, “then come out, Mrs. Shawley was ecstatic about putting you up.” She takes a deep breath, “the villages hero!”

Daven puffs out his chest and quickly fastens his pants and goes to the door.

“Of course,” Mary Lee is blinking at him as he opens the barn door, “we might be able to offer even better accommodations if the inn was still open.” Her face is splashed in light, features shifting like a practiced symphony, “it’s a shame it’s been such a rough couple of years.”

Daven’s heart sinks and he swallows thickly, “it… it is.”

Mary Lee’s eyes flash up, two other representatives stand behind her. “Poor villages can never really get ahead in this world, can they?”

Daven gives the longest internal sigh.

_Three for wealth._

“The world is unfair,” he says instead and doesn’t meet any of their eyes.

————————————–

“We really can’t afford to pave this road.”

Daven hears from the young girl as he walks past.

————————————-  
“My son would be going to school right now, but his shoes are worn too thin to make the walk.” The old man at the market sighs, “so many of the village children can’t make it these days.”

Daven doesn’t meet his eye as he picks up an apple, “I’m sure once the crops come in…”

“Oh yes,” the old man grins at him, “that was you, right young man?” He pat him on the back, “we have no savings, so now at least we won’t starve in the winter!” He laughs and Daven turns back to the road.

—————————–

“That old window is broken, just can never save up enough to fix it.”

—————————-

“My daughter has a toothache but doctors are expensive, he only comes around when we pay.”  
—————————-

“I need at least three more cows to make this a right business, but it feels like the wallet is always empty around here. No one can get ahead.”

“I GET IT.” Daven stomps away from the communal bathroom and sits down angrily at a long wooden party table. He fumes silently.

He imagines Ellis’s smug face looking down at him and just saying slowly ‘I told you so.’ That image alone just makes him angrier.

He bends over and sighs into his hands until it feels like there’s no more air left in his lungs.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he feels a soft hand land on his shoulder, “woah.” He almost elbows Mary Lee in the stomach as she wanders over with her old grandma in toe.

“Miss Henri,” he nods, “Mary Lee.”

She smiles plainly down, “how are you finding your party?”

His eyebrow twitches, “it’s… nice.” His jaw clenches, “though several villagers have been informing me of their… financial troubles.”

Mary Lee leans down close, “I hope you don’t mind.” She simpers slightly, “they just are looking for hope.” She squeezes his shoulder, “they haven’t had hope in so long.”

He looks down at his hands, “I can’t go back.” He grumbles. “He took my sword.”

“We can get you another sword,” Mary Lee says happily.

Daven just shakes his head, “I have a bad feeling about going back there. I got lucky so far, but those gardens,” he wets his lips, “there’s a reason no one goes a third time.”

Mary Lee’s golden curls bounce loosely as she cocks her head to the side, “I know.” She puts both hands on his shoulders, “you’ve already done so much for us.”

He exhales slowly, “so you understand…”

“But it would be a shame if the military had to know about a deserter that ran away all the way out here.”

There it was.

“I thought we were past this,” he mumbles mostly to himself.

Mary Lee’s hands become an iron grip, “they haven’t had hope in so long.”

Daven grits his teeth and looks up, “I hear you.”

He meets her sharp gray eyes and she lifts her chin, a queen with no crown. “I don’t think you do.” She points around, “it’s illegal to run away from the army in the middle of a war.”

Daven sinks down into the floor and let’s himself become a puddle, “I hear you.”

————————————-

The war in the Southern Groves was not so much a war as it was a furious attempt to put down a bloody rebellion in Hanivery county. Daven didn’t know much about it, even after being covered in mud, dirt, and blood for it.

Daven’s chewing through his own life decision as he holds a new broadsword in his hand and stands outside the gates of a tall marble wall. The smell of marigolds and mildew wafts out from inside and birds call like hunting dogs from within.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the thick oak doors. He exhales, “oh bloody mother, bloody mother. Show us the oysters legs and bring us heaven’s hellfire.”

He hears the door click just as it always did. The lock groans and the doors start creaking and rumbling on their own, he steps back.

An ax falls right where he was standing, he creeps in past the first defense, watching his footwork and holding up the sword. He doesn’t hear it, but the first creature’s eyes are on him faster than a pair of street rat hands on a gold watch.

He lifts his head and turns around in circles until a vivid white panther comes into view, he holds his sword up. “Bloody mother, bloody mother, sleep while you can. Show me the diamonds crown and the King’s grace.”

The panther bares her teeth briefly and turns around, Daven’s shoulders relax and starts walking. He may or may not have been telling the rest of the village he’d been battling a panther each time he entered, but that was neither here nor there.

He stabs a vine as it lashes out toward his ankle and then put his back to a wall and edges his way past the first pit filled with albino spitting lizards.

He passes a clearing with a family of white deer inside and keeps his head down as a sleeping cheetah lies on the corner of the next bend. It’s like all the times before, but Daven’s insides feel covered in slime and a cold chill, something was different.

The air was thicker, he could smell a storm in the air and see rumbling clouds in the distance. He secures a scarf around his neck and slashes his way through more undergrowth.

“Stupid village,” he curses, “stupid curses.” He slashes again, “stupid, stupid, stupid,” he exhales slowly, “me.”

He just  _had_  to pick up in the middle of the night one camp-out and run the other direction as fast as he possibly could. He just had to flea several hundred miles away from the battlefield.

He’s angrily kicking a stone across a wide pool of acid when he hears it skid and sizzle there, a squeak follows. A distinctly human sounding squeak. Daven turns around quickly, eyes darting back and forth.

“Oh fuck,” Someone mutters and Daven’s head jerks up as he recognizes the voice.

His mouth hangs open, “That was quick.” He hears scrambling and flustered footsteps from just around the corner, Daven hurriedly leaps over the puddle and jerks toward the sound. “This is the last time! I swear.”

Green tail feathers disappear around the next corner, Daven gurgles in the back of his throat, “fine.” He huffs and starts running, “the hard way. Again.”

For someone carrying at least five pounds of feathers he is still surprisingly fast and Daven is panting and gasping for air by the third corridor. He’s sprinting around foliage and the snapping jaws of different booby traps as he skids left and right.

He calls out when he can, “please,” he rasps, “can we just talk? A good, reasonable talk. I can even take my clothes off again!”

He hears a rough laugh from ahead, but the feathers are whipping around the next corner.

“Oh come on.”

He sees seven cherubs and a deer archway.

Daven groans loudly and holds the stitch in his side as he comes galloping into the seven-cherub square. “Ellis,” he says weakly, “I’m not as young as I look.”

“You look at least twenty-five!” He hears an answering call, just as he sees a trail of feathers disappearing up the tree like the tail of a pissed-off house cat.

Daven slows down and gasps for air, “you are nothing if not predictable.” He says mostly to himself as he approaches the same tree he found him in. He grins up as he reaches the trunk, “But you’re not the only who can climb.”

Ellis just returns a slow grin back at him, Daven scowls.

He puts his hands around the trunk before gasping and leaping backward, a sharp pain sizzles through the pads of fingers. He retracts his burning skin from the white bark. “Fuck!” He curses and clutches his hands to his chest. “Goddammit.”

A fair head peaked out from the lowest branch and looks down, “everything’s poisoned here, remember?”

Daven sucks on his bottom lip and clenches his eyes shut for a long second, “right.” He counts back from ten before unfurling himself again and standing up straight. The pain dulls, he looks up, “And here I thought you were just being foolish.” He laughs gravely.

Ellis peeks down at him and looks nonplussed, “most people do.”

Daven lets his head fall backward, “Any chance I have something I can bribe you with now?”

Ellis shakes his head, “absolutely not.”

“Well then,” he straightens his shirt, hands still stinging, “I guess we’ll have to see how long you can stay up there.”

Ellis makes a face at him, “you’re fighting a losing battle. So far you’ve only gotten some feathers by your own dumb luck and my own good will.”

“Good will?” His mouth falls open hotly, “You made me strip for you.”

“My own goodwill, yes,” he repeats and Daven would have laughed if he wasn’t mentally preparing himself for a war of attrition.

He juts his jaw out, “We could both be reasonable men here-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ugh.”

Ellis winks, “thanks for stopping by. I was almost getting lonely after not seeing you here for a whole five seconds.”

Daven crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m doing good deeds.”

“Sure are champ.”

“Fuck you.”

Ellis laughs, a dry and thoughtless sound this time, “you wish.”

Daven raises his eyebrows, “Well I mean… for 3 feathers maybe, hmm?”

Ellis fluffs his hair absently, “are you really that desperate?” He asks flatly, “because trust me when I say I have better options. The albino alligator perhaps, or a very willing looking rock.”

Daven kneels down and sits cross-legged on the ground, “fine.” He grumbles, “I guess we’re waiting then.” He pouts slightly, “you’ve already given me 3 already. What’s 3 more?”

“What’s 3 more fingers says the man after he’s already lost five.”

“They aren’t fingers!”

Ellis just shakes his head, “I wasn’t talking about me, I was telling you your future.”

Daven raises his head, “I’ll tell you yours as well.” He clears his throat, “incredible gentleman bird gives local hero three feathers to help a group of innocent people, right?”

Ellis makes a face, “Piss off.”

“Revised: bird boy accidentally finds his own reflection and drowns trying to make out with it.” He makes sure Ellis is watching as he makes a sardonic jerk off motion as he finishes that story.

Ellis pushes his bottom lip out. “So be it.” He leans down, “as long as one living hemroid-man doesn’t get any more feathers off me I’ll have died fulfilled.”

“Oh? What’s this? I found something else for you,” he reaches into his pocket, “it has your name on it.” He takes out his middle finger and shakes it in the air.

Ellis snorts, “you wouldn’t be quite so insufferable if you weren’t half as dumb as most of them are greedy.”

Daven squints at him, “yeah. I didn’t follow that. Just a lot of you choking on your own spit.”

Ellis swings his legs back and forth as he sits on the low branch and looks down, “It’s funny you’re willing to wait, you know I don’t eat right?”

“Yes you do,” Daven snaps back.

“How would you know that?” Ellis says with his teeth gleaming.

Daven grins lowly, “I told you before. You’re easy to read.”

“Right, right,” he waves a hand through the air, “because good people don’t get cursed.”

“And bastards get what’s coming to them,” Daven nods in agreement with himself.

Ellis’s face falls, “you really believe that?”

“Yes! You are selfish! It’s just three feathers.”

He looks off into the distance, “I’d rather die of starvation up here then give them to you, funny how that is.”

Daven blows air out of his nose, “are you serious?”

“Are you desperate?”

Daven growls, “maybe we could just wait in silence until you come to your senses.”

He wags a finger in the air, “I have never had any sense and you of all people are not going to give it to me.”

“Look at me, ignoring you. Waiting patiently for you to give in. Like you did before.”

Ellis rolls over on the tree branch, feathers splaying out behind him, “a sudden error in judgement, yes, but…” He gives him a knowing look, “aren’t the villagers satisfied yet?”

Daven looks down at his hands, he takes a deep breath in and then sighs.

Ellis chuckles, “that’s what I thought.”

Daven looks up sharply, “they just need like… new windows and cows and medicine.”

Ellis visibly rolls his acid green eyes, “wake up. They’ll always need more things.” He scowls, “that’s why I’m up here.”

His lip curls back, “You can always grow more feathers.”

Ellis shakes his head, “you don’t know anything about this curse.”

Daven snorts, “and what should I know fair prince? That you hit on a witch’s daughter and got trapped in a hell maze? Which is terrible, but there are better ways to deal with than becoming an ass on top of a peacock.”

Ellis gave a slim light smile, “you’ve finally been listening to the town gossip I see.”

Daven sniffs loudly, “I talked to some folks.”

Ellis’s face disappears as he seems to sit up on the branch, “I never did understand it…”

A long pause follows, “understand what?” Daven prompts after a long moment.

Ellis peaks over the edge, “I like your first idea. Let’s wait in silence for starvation.”

Daven blows air out of his nose, “fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

A long silence descends as they quietly fume at one another. Daven starts counting the feathers he can see hanging off the tree branch and calculating how high he’d have to jump to grab one. Screw asking.

Ellis seems to just lie his head against the tree and close his eyes, some curiosity tickles in Daven’s gut but he can’t place it. What didn’t he know about the curse?

He figured there wasn’t much to know.

It was bad, this boy messed with a witch and now he had to deal with the consequences. He watches the boy’s long eyelashes and measured thoughtful face. This was all harder than it needed to be.

His thoughts weave in and out of each other, possibilities hopscotching over each other: a cold military jail cell, the sharp musical smile of Mary Lee, the girl with no shoes glancing up at him like a question. Ellis, broken as a fine-tuned violin finding the ground, falling from his perch up high.

Daven sighs and leans his head back and closes his eyes. A cold jail cell.

It’s quiet as he ignores his hunger and sinks lower into the hard dirty marble, the material is cutting into his ass and making his back stiff. Not that he would ever admit that at this point. He breathes in the thick air and listens to the nothingness.

Something rustles above him, “you should leave.”

Daven looks up to see Ellis standing up and looking off in the distance, Daven sighs, “yeah yeah.”

Ellis frowns deeply and narrows his eyes before looking down, “I’m serious. You need to go.”

Daven lifts his eyebrows, “hungry, I take it?”

Ellis makes a deep rumbling noise in the back of his throat and his lip curls, “look at the sky.”

Daven’s brow furrows and he leans back to look up at the grey horizon. He hums, the sky was a pure puffing white, thick and milky it lay above them in a billowing current.

Daven shrugs loosely, “so?”

“Fog,” Ellis says darkly before crouching on the branch, “the fog is rolling in.”

“I guess?”

Ellis’s expression goes wild, “you need to leave!”

Daven tenses and feels a shift in the young man, he suddenly wasn’t mocking and brisk. A hardness had entered his movements.

Daven sits up straight, “is this some new secret young prince?”

Ellis hunches over and bristles, his feathers fluffing up, “you’re going to die if you…” He huffs and Daven can’t make sense of what exactly he’s getting at.

Daven settles down in his seat and makes clear that he’s not going anywhere, “nice try.”

“Ugh!” Ellis throws his arms in the air, “fine then.”

Daven looks away and picks at the stubble on his chin, “it sure would be nice to have three feathers to get me to le-”

“This isn’t the time!” The young man growls, “give it a rest.”

Daven clenches his jaw, “maybe it’s nothing but a game to you, but this is life or death for… some people.”

Ellis’s eyes flick back and forth from the sky and Daven, “this is life or death either way.”

Daven cocks his head to the side, “don’t tell me the fog is poison.” He picks at his scarf and starts edging it up to cover his mouth and nose.

Ellis just shakes his head, “you don’t know.” He sighs, “of course you don’t.”

Daven rolls his eyes, “do you make a career out of being cryptic?”

Ellis’s mouth was hanging open and he looked spooked, his eyes drag from the descending sky and Daven again. “I can’t believe,” he groans deeply and leans over the ground, “Don’t fucking tell anyone.”

“What? About your obtuse difficultness? They might be able to guess.”

“Shut up,” Daven jumps as Ellis leaps to the ground, “shut up while I save your life.”

“Wait, wait,” Ellis swiftly strides over and grabs his arm.

“You better run.” Ellis’s eyes were trained on the fog rolling in on the other side of the square, snaking over the ground and flattening itself across the walls and plants.

“What?” Daven’s heart squeezes, his senses revving up at his strange behavior.

“Do you see that?” Ellis points with his chin, Daven takes a step back. He squints his eyes and studies the thick white wall of moisture. His breath catches in his throat as he sees a gasping dark mouth and pair of eyes.

Daven takes a step back, “What the hell?”

Ellis pulls him the other direction, “they roll in with the fog.”

Daven picks up their pace and they jog out of the square, “spirits?”

Ellis meets his gaze, “ghosts.”

Daven gulps and turns to start running. He tells himself not to look back, but he can’t help but stumble and glance over his shoulder.

He sees hungry smokey hands grasping and clawing out of the whiteness, empty gaping dark mouths and black eyes following. Daven runs faster, he jumps when he feels a hard prod to his left side.

“Go left!” Ellis says shrilly and forces him to take the next turn.

Daven skids but manages not to fall down as they weave and bob away from the impending natural phenomena. Daven tries not to flinch as a chorus of voices filter in through the damp air, they were whispers at first, dark hushes with no words.

And then they form like pieces of silk being fashioned together through his ears: grating and smooth all at once, chilling him to the bone.

“Return, return, return,” they murmured, “he’s taken, taken.” It’s like a sickening echo that becomes a louder rushing wave. “Whore,” the voices slither and crash down upon them, Daven keeps running, keeps not looking back. “Whore!”

“Fuck,” Ellis skids and grabs the end of Daven’s sleeve, “we’re not going to make it.”

The sweat drips down Daven’s brow, his eyes go wide as he sees the end of the next pathway: a thick, wall of shifting whiteness. Ghastly pale hands tumble on its insides and Daven blinks back at a number of black-hole eyes staring from the depths.

“Whore!”

It comes rushing toward them in one lumbering crawl, like a living beast fumbling for its prey.

“I hate you,” Ellis says to him through gritted teeth and then he grabs Daven and swings him around, the air is knocked out of Daven as he hits the nearest wall. Ellis pushes him up against a wall and digs his forearms into Daven’s chest as he pins him there.

Daven gasps, a wall of beautiful green plumage fans out around them, encapsulating them like a dome as Ellis held him up against the wall.

The forces crescendo into a wordless murmur of white noise and every part of him stiffens, Daven screws his eyes shut and braces himself for impact.

The forearm digs into his chest and Daven feels a warm puff of breath against his cheek. “Don’t move.” Nothing arrives but the sound of their labored breathing.

Daven cracks his eyes back open and looks anywhere but down, “Did you just…?”  _Save me?_

“Don’t mention it.” Ellis says in a strained tone as they stand toe to toe, lingering in the shadow of his great tail as it protects them from the ghouls of the fog. “Your corpse would really ruin the mood of the place.”

“I mean-” He opens his mouth but is quickly interrupted.

“ _Blood traitor.”_ The voices rasp.

Daven’s body shakes as he feels the wispy tickle of something around his ankles but it doesn’t latch on. The air is cold and clammy around them, muttering and calling from some veil of the unknown. Something evil really was here.

One deep gravely voice rises from the chorus, “Disgrace,” it was a hiss, “Liar.” A deep rolling murmur hits them, “Whore.”

Daven searches above him for something, but he feels Ellis shift against him, Daven sneaks a look down, snatching a brief private glance of Ellis. The prince’s eyes are clenched shut and body hunched over. “Good to hear from you too father.” He says bitterly.

Daven’s mouth becomes a hard line, his whole being pulsing with a confusion he couldn’t name.

“Indignity, disgrace, blot, blot, blot, taken-”

“Wow!” Daven doesn’t know where that comes from, “Some fucked up weather we’re having.” He glances down, “you bring this on us with your piss-poor attitude?” He barks it as loudly as possible.

Ellis’s eyes fly open and he looks up with a confused grimace, “what are you going on about?”

The voice shrieks, “Whor-”

“This is what happens when you leave the shower on!” Daven is louder, “You’re the type to do that, right? Leave the hot water on, for hours. I can see it in your princely face. Fog the whole place up.”

Ellis cracks a slight smile, “I would.” He says evenly, “If I ever took anything other than baths.”

“Who-”

“Of course!” Daven was practically shouting at the top of his lungs, “I can see it now: fifty perfumes and those fat white towels they use on people with sensitive skin and purebreds.”

“I do have sensitive skin.”

“Really?” Daven huffs a laugh, “It seems pretty thick. Or else you might have it in your heart to give me three more feathers!”

“You’re a fool,” Ellis almost whispers, something soft. “You could take them right now.” It was an even lower whisper.

Daven looks all around he sees that it’s true: He was surrounded by feathers, golden eyes that stared at him from all directions. All he had to do was reach out and take one. His right hand vibrates, he sees Mary Lee’s face again in his mind’s eye. And then a cold military jail cell.

He wiggles right his arm free and reaches up, slowly, tentatively, he can feel Ellis’s eyes on him as he does- a challenge or maybe something else. Something open, a wound, a hare caught in a trap.

Daven can only guess why.

Daven delicately takes one of the closest feathers in hand, holding the very end of it loosely. It’s soft.

His fingers slowly trails down one of the long feathers, feeling the soft plummy texture in between his fingertips. His hand goes down the length- from the colorful tip to the base on Ellis’s shoulder. Ellis still doesn’t move.

Daven exhales slowly. He holds the base of the feather for a very long moment, his heartbeat caught in his throat. Then he leans back.

He retracts his hand and lets it fall loosely to his side. His eyes close for a long moment.

A whole-body shiver goes through the other boy in front of him, a choked sound follows and Daven just leans into him.

“I bet,” Daven swallows thickly, “You spend at least five hours in the goddamn bath. Have the servants keep filling it up for you until your just a prune. A huge prune.”

Ellis laughs, a surprised sound, wet and free- like it was dislodged from deep inside of him. “Sure.” He chuckles, “go on.”

“You use perfumes, like lavender and persimmon.”

“I don’t think persimmon is a perfume,” he was still laughing.

“See? You know that!” He keeps going.

Daven isn’t sure how long he stands there yelling over the voices of the dead, pressed together with his savior and greatest challenge. Yelling and shivering and waiting for something.

It’s almost twilight by the time the fog finally clears. He is weary and stiff, his voice completely lost and chest aching.

He doesn’t remember saying goodbye, or anything much after that, they don’t meet eyes as he leaves this time. But he does lean into him for just a moment.

“Thank you.” It was a hush of a word, spoken into Ellis’s soft fly-away hair.

“Yeah,” Ellis grunts back and they stay there, for a heartbeat, just a heartbeat. And then Daven turns to leave, he tells himself it’s for the last time.


	3. The Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic injury near the end

Daven is standing in a field of swirling white. Thick fog flows like water around his feet, curling and uncurling lazily in endless circles, a veil of thin mist surrounds him like a chalky wall. Water drips with a soft ‘plink, plink, plink’ somewhere in the distance and the din of shallow whispers crawls across his skin.

He turns around in small slow circles, looking for something he can’t name, he sees white in endless rolling sheets around him. Daven shivers and looks away, averting his eyes from something he can’t name.

He tugs at his sleeves, loose white pajamas hang off his body like soft fluttering scraps and his head is heavy with cotton and a dull haziness.

He looks up toward the endless white above him, “Hello…?” His voice mixes with the sound of distant indistinct whispers and he has a feeling he’s not alone here.

He takes several steps forward, his arm hairs are standing on end and the air is clinging to him like a clammy second skin. His feet are swallowed by the mass of twirling fog with each step, he holds his breath.

Whispers swirl around him like a tangible force that can be touched and felt, wordless and almost musical- like church hymns from a neighbors house. He keeps his head down and eyes scanning the obscured ground.

He doesn’t know how long he walks, maybe a minute, maybe ten minutes, but the whispers stop just as suddenly as they started.

A silence breaks and Daven looks back up, a figure is sitting directly in front of him- appearing like it had always been there. It’s sitting perfectly still, head bent down and shoulders hunched. It’s wearing a dark grey cloak that stands out starkly against the ivory white around them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the voice carries, strained and rumbling- reverberating through Daven’s chest like an intrusive tremor.

Daven recognizes that voice, “Ellis,” he says slowly, “Ellis. Where… why are we…?” His words are muffled and swallowed by the fog. The figure shifts in place.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Ellis looks sharply over his shoulder, green eyes burning, he pins Daven with a look that could puncture tanning hide. Daven realizes passively that Ellis’s feathers are gone, his back empty of the lengthy plumage and all so human. He looks small.

“Where is here?” Daven retorts, trying to make heads or tails of this. There really is no escaping the other boy.  
“Nowhere,” he says simply and Ellis looks him up and down, holding his gaze for a long minute. “What is it that you want Daven?” It has an almost miserable question, quiet and stern.

Daven straightens up and blinks a few times, he feels almost naked again under the backdrop. “What do you mean?” He asks slowly.

“What do you want.” He says again, “Or do you even know?”

“No, I dunno.” He answers truthfully, “Survival?”

Ellis scoffs, “living in a cage is no way to survive.” He hunches over further, “Or live at all.” The statement is so bitter and bright, so Ellis-like, that Daven is suddenly questioning if this is a dream after all.

“I’m not in cage,” he says simply, though he doesn’t know why.

A heavy sigh responds and Ellis turns, though he somehow doesn’t remember him facing away in the first place. “I know.” Ellis says solemnly.

Daven cocks his head to the side, “… What do  _you_ want Ellis?” He asks slowly in reprisal.

The other boy blows air out of his nose, “I wonder… Of all people.” He was murmuring to himself, “He gave you the way into the gardens.”

Daven raises his eyebrows, “Who?”

Ellis takes a deep breath, his back still turned to him. “I suppose I never will understand him.”

“Do you always have to speak in riddles?” Daven takes a step forward.

“The Hunter,” Ellis says evenly, “Who else?”

Daven’s eyebrows raise, the fog swirls faster around his ankles. “Wait, was he… in on all this?” His brow folds into a scowl, “what’s all that supposed to mean? Tell me something real.”

A soft tasteless breeze brushes through Daven’s hair. The boy turns and suddenly he is inches away from Daven, almost touching him as he whispers in his ear. “You tell me. Why didn’t you take the feather Daven?”

Daven stiffens, Ellis smells like rainwater and frost-laden air, Daven takes a deep breath, “Why should I?” He asks softly, “You saved my life.”

He glances down to see Ellis’s mouth twitch, “Saved you…” He trails off, “Is that all it takes for people to leave me alone?”

Daven takes a step forward and he can almost feel the warmth of another body there, “I don’t think you actually want that.”

Ellis snorts, Daven blinks and Ellis is standing somewhere distant in the mist now, just a dark cloak in the shifting veil. “There you go again.” He says slowly, “Stating things as if you know me.” A rough laugh follows, “You don’t know me.”

Daven purses his lips, “I could, you know. Someone could.” He turns in circles to spot Ellis again, he is just a shadow in the whiteness right then. “Like how you got cursed.”

Ellis’s body is gone, but the whispering is back, “It’s exactly what you think.” The voice seems to come from all around him.

Daven reaches out instinctively and his fingers meet something soft and pliant, he fists his hand into a fabric and pulls. Ellis is dragged from the mist by his shirt collar, Daven holds him in place as if he might vanish again, they blink at one another.

Daven cracks a smile, “Is this all real?”

Ellis shrugs, “If you want it to be.”

Daven sighs heavily, “There you go again,” he sighs, “With the riddles.”

Ellis gives a small smile back, “How else would I keep the boys interested?”

“What?” Daven pauses, still holding onto his shirt. “What?”

Ellis chuckles and looks off somewhere behind Daven’s right shoulder, “Just another riddle for you to solve.” He gets up on his tiptoes, Daven can feel his hot breath against his ear, “Not that you’re ever coming back.”

Daven looks down toward his feet, “I can’t.”

“I know,” It’s a dark reply, the kind that hangs in the air for a very long time.

Daven lets go and holds either side of Ellis’s arms, almost kindred to a hug as he leans over him. “Thank you,” He sighs, “just… thanks.”

“You’re leaving,” Ellis’s eyes dart up, they are round and full for once, curious almost, like rolling green hills momentarily caught in the sunlight.

Daven holds his gaze, “I mean, I’ll try.” He gives a strained smile, “Mary Lee might not make it easy.”

“… Will you be alright?” It was such a strange question from the boy, barely audible or even discernable.

Daven’s face folds down, his hands trail down the other boys arms, “Will you?” A long moment pauses, his heart thumps painfully in his chest.

Ellis disappears, a crackling laugh fills the air and courses through him like an electric current. The fog underfoot streams faster, like a trickling river gathering into a flood. It snakes around his ankles and a voice comes from all around. “Wake up Daven.” It says coldly, “You don’t want my secrets.”

A pair of hands press into his chest, the feeling of a firm shove, thick warmth spreads out from some unseen fingertips, pressing into him, burying into his flesh. “You should have never been let in in the first place.”

“Wait,” his voice is muffled, the hairs on his arm are all standing on end. “Just answer me Ellis, answer me something at least.”

The laugh rings through his bones,the warm touch spreads through his body. “You don’t want this,” a soft voice answers. “Not now.”

He almost chokes as something wraps around his body, encompassing him, the warmth pushing into every nerve and tingling limb. His soft white pajamas are gone and his vision is overwhelmed by nothingness, something tears through his thoughts and insides.

His breath comes in short rapid bursts, his temperature rises like a lit furnace and his heart pounds in his ears.

“Ellis,” He calls, but his voice is swallowed whole and the warmth tightens around him like a hand extinguishing a flame. “Ellis!” The feeling splinters deep inside him.

Daven wakes with a start, sweat drenching his entire body and eyes flying open. His heart is still pounding and mind reeling. He touches each arm and his face to make sure it’s still there, he runs a hand through his hair, “What the hell was that.”

He gasps and feels at his damp forehead and clammy palms, that isn’t how he planned to spend his night here. He flops down in bed and takes deep breaths until his heartbeat slows and he can try and forget the peacock prince one more time.

————-

 _Why does everything cost money?_  That is the great and unhappy question Daven was wrangling with at the moment.

 _Why does everything cost money and why am I not in possession of more?_  It was a two part existential query.

Daven is lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and frowning. His unnerving dream had startled him awake well before sunrise and now he is contemplating the screaming of birds outside.

The inn walls are particularly stuffy and claustrophobic at that moment, all straight wooden planks and plain floors. The town of Gregory was around a twenty minute walk from the town of Fiora- the place that send him out into the gardens to begin with.

It was a quiet run-down place that looked almost precisely like every other village you would pass, a type of village that would kick him out soon when his money ran out.

And now left him with one final mission: return to Fiora, retrieve what’s left of his belongings and flee. Run to the ocean and join whatever ship that would take him, never return.

_Never return._

He takes a deep breath, now he just had to do it- and not get thrown in a military jail cell to top it all off. He closes his eyes for a long moment, clenching his fists by his side, he sees a face: angular and indifferent, green-eyed and guarded.

Daven’s eyes fly back open, he jerks upright and swings his legs out of the bed. “Time to get this over with.”

He secures his broadsword to his hip and gathers his boots and what’s left of the money he happened to bring. Just five sickles remained after two nights in the inn.

The night clerk gives him a blurry nod as he pays for the last night and slips out the front door. He has two sickles left.

He doesn’t look back as he makes his way toward the King’s Road and the next town.

Bird songs fill the air and stillness overlays his bones like stiff concrete, the morning sun barely peeks over the horizon and it’s light streams through the rustling green leaves. The King’s Road in this part of the kingdom is considered on of the most dangerous parts of the region.

Prone to bandits and robbers, it’s cracked and filled with uneven holes in many parts, it’s truly the forgotten fiefdom without a nobel. Daven keeps his eyes sharp and fingers at the ready, but all is quiet that morning.

He slips soundlessly through the next twenty minutes, trying to keep his hood up, eyes down, thoughts busy. A voice snakes in between his ears.

 _You failed them_ , that’s all he can think of when he sees the first buildings of Fiora. He pinches himself and creeps toward the nearest tree cover.  _You failed them._

He shakes the thought loose again.

“In and out,” he whispers and takes deep breaths, “Mary Lee won’t even be awake at this hour. Just in and out.” He stands at the edge of town for another long moment, unmoving.

 _You have a sword, don’t be a baby_ , he hears Ellis’s voice, mocking him in his own headspace. Daven looks down at his shoes,  _you wouldn’t understand._  He argue with a ghost,  _I ran away again. I… failed them._

_They’ll get over it._

_Shut up._

_They probably already have._

_Shut up!_

The voice goes quiet, he forces himself forward, padding softly down the first dusty empty street, the houses are all plain wooden boxes with painted front doors and square windows. He remembered thinking it was friendly when he first staggered in, thirsty and almost delirious, that had been weeks ago.

They had fed him, gave him new clothes, and a place to stay. They hadn’t even said anything when they must have realized he wasn’t just ‘vacationing’ from the military.

Well, they hadn’t said anything until mentioning they needed a feather from the garden. That felt like lifetimes ago.

He crouches low on the dirt roads, empty except for a sleeping stray dog and the smell of early morning bread baking far-off. Daven wanders into the heart of the village. Being upgraded to better accommodations had seemed ideal earlier, but Daven is now acutely aware that he is smack dab in the middle of Fiora. It was no longer ideal.  
Old Mrs. Shawley’s house is a single brown house with a white trim. It is squat with two levels, faded wood and a brass knocker that might have once been shiny, he remembered thinking how it looked lived-in, a real home.

He doesn’t hesitate now, Daven goes around the back and eyes the second story window. All that is left to do is break in.

The alley is quiet as he shoves a spare barrel against the house, the window is cracked open as he climbs up and wedges his fingers under the shudders. He grunts as he pulls himself up and elbows his way into the second story window.

He topples into a long room with a soft thump and rights himself quickly, he’s luck Mrs. Shawley is hard of hearing. He surveys the area, it’s a narrow space with a single bed covered in a fluffy grey comforter and several pillows stacked high. There was a round threadbear throw-rug on the floor, one heavy dark chest up against the bed and a water basin by the door.

He exhales, it was just like he left it. “Finally, some luck,” he says softly and dusts himself off, a sense of hope welling in his chest.

Maybe they thought he was still on his quest, still their hero lost in the gardens- still fighting for them. Maybe they hadn’t guessed he had spent the last two days hunkered down in the town of Gregory hiding out in an inn with his last few coins.

Maybe.

Daven makes a beeline toward to the heavy chest at the end of the bed and kneels down to twist the lock numbers into place: 1137. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the lock clicks and he wrenches the thing open.

Daven looks down at a pair of pants, two shirts, and some extra shoes, he quickly takes them all and shoves them into his pack. His heart drops as he feels around for a heavy sack at the bottom of the chest, the gold he had stored from the donations of the town. He pales as he hands grasp at nothing but cloth and a wooden bottom.  
“No, no, no,” he starts to curse, “Fuck.” He leans back on his heels and growls, threading his fingers through his hair and grinding his teeth, “Fuck!”

He thrusts his hand back into the trunk and does another quick search.

“Are you looking for this young soldier?”

Daven practically topples over from the sound of another voice, he swings around to see a figure silently standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a pale pink nightgown, beige slippers, and her hair is done up in twin tight braids.

Her expression is cool and unreadable, she’s holding a heavy sack of gold in one hand.

“Mary Lee,” he breaths, eyes going wide and every muscle stiffening- preparing for fight or flight.

“You seemed to have left it here.” She jingles the bag of gold in hand. “A shame really. We gave you quiet a lot… didn’t we?” Her eyes are slits and her careful slouch against the doorframe is somehow threatening.

Daven reaches for the end of his broadsword, “I can explain.” That’s also how he started most of his conversations with his mother when he was in trouble.

Her eyes are hard shards of ice, “Oh?”

Daven frowns, his hand closing around the hilt of his sword, “It’s wrong.” He says slowly, “I couldn’t finish the last task.”

“Obviously,” she elegantly rolls her eyes.

“But I already got you the other three!” He says in a high-pitched garble, “that has to be enough, I did all I could. You can’t, you can’t-”

“Calm down.”

“You can’t tell them!” He draws himself up, “They’ll execute me.”

“I said relax.” Mary Lee’s expression becomes wholly frigid, “I figured you might fail in the last mission anyway. Most do.”

Daven wrinkles his brow, “You thought…?”

She shrugs loosely, “You were promising in some ways. But what is a little village without a few backup plans?” Her mouth turns up in a mirthless smile, “Dead. That’s what.”

Daven purses his lips, “Mary Lee…”

She fixed him with a steady look, her voice light and almost sing-song, “Did you want us dead Daven?”

“No!”  
She takes a few steps forward, “Could have fooled me.” She blows hot air out of her nose, “You’re lucky it’s a bigger world than fools and little boys.”

He lifts his chin up, “What does that mean?”

She sighs loudly, “We’re keeping the gold.” She says simply, “As payment for running out on us.”

Daven’s heart sinks, “But you’re not going to tell the military on me?” He looks left and right, checking as if a cavalry knight would swing out of the walls to capture him.

“No,” she starts to turn, “I didn’t sleep on the damned couch of this place just to turn you in.” She steps away from the door. “The military isn’t our friend either.”

“Could have fooled me,” He says retorts hotly. “You threatened me with them enough.” He shakes his head, “I can’t believe… thank God I didn’t get those last three, dammit.”

She lifts her chin up, “We will have those last three feathers.”  
Daven eyes her, “What are you planning Mary Lee?”

“Nothing,” she says simply, “You can leave. Everything is all sorted.”

Daven takes a weighted step toward her, mouth snarling down, “What did you do Mary Lee?”

She she looked him up and down, “It’s not your problem now. I was only checking to see if you’d return. You’re free from our contract.”

He reaches for her, “Why aren’t you blackmailing to go get the last three? I’m not the only who can get into the gardens.”

“Is that what you think?” She gives a contained smile, one that took every muscle and none of them were thoughtless. “Well,” she turns to leave, “don’t worry about it.”

He grabs her arms to stop her from leaving, not enough to hurt, but enough to show he meant business. “Who did you send to the gardens?”

She looks at his hands and then tilts her chin up and meets his eyes steadily.  _A queen without a crown._

“Let’s just say they promised more feathers than you could ever deliver,” she relaxes in his grip.

“The Hunter won’t appear for them,” he says it and knows it to be true, “You hired a mission bound to fail.”

“Daven,” Mary Lee says slowly, “you don’t remember? They said you told them.”

Daven’s eyes go wide, “Who?”

“Nobodies. Highwaymen,” she cocks her head to the side, “They said you were friends actually, drinking buddies. That you told them the secrets of the gardens, told them to get revenge on that Peacock boy for you.”

Daven’s blood runs cold, his heart dropping. He puts the puzzle together, “Thatch.” His tongue curls around the name, “Thatch and his men.” His breath catches in throat, thoughts reeling _. I had been drinking,_ his memories float around his head, bright spots in a river of sludge.

 _I told them everything…?_  His heart plummets.

Mary Lee takes a step away from him, his arms fall to his side- letting her go.

“What have you done Mary Lee?”

She sniffs, “What are you on about?” She scowls, baring her teeth, “I’m helping my people. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Daven looks down at his shoes, then toward the stairs, “Keep the money,” he fumes slowly, “And try to live with your damn self after all this.”

“I will,” she says simply, but Daven isn’t looking at her anymore, he’s running.

Running like there are dogs at his feet and bees at his back, he practically falls down the stairs and out the front door.

_I told them, I told them, I told them._

Mary Lee hired the highwaymen to go into the gardens after Ellis, and he made it all possible. He’s sprinting out of the village at top speed.

 _I have to make at least one thing right._ He tells himself, body finding its way over thick foliage and fallen branches. The journey is a blur of burning lungs and smeared vision, tall trees pass and the towering white walls of the garden come into focus.

He throws himself at the front gates, “Oh bloody mother, bloody mother. Show us the oysters legs and bring us heaven’s hellfire.” He screams it.

Daven barely jumps out of the way of the ax this time, it’s sharp point lodging itself into the ground and Daven streaking past it through the open gates. His heels dig in as a he speeds into the first courtyard and finds it still and empty. It appears as it always did, the only sound being his heavy breathing and pounding heart.

He turns around in quick circles, looking carefully at each path in front of him. He notes that the white panther is nowhere in sight. She does not appear to stare him down and bare her teeth, something is off.

He chooses a direction and runs, his feet slap against the hard ground and it takes all his concentration to avoid the snapping vines and floor traps this time.

“Ellis!” He cries, “Ellis, I’m here!”

Nothing. He takes another jerky turn.

“Thatch!” He tries instead, “Thatch, you shouldn’t do this.”

Daven takes several more twisting turns, throwing himself deeper and deeper into the maze of garden walls. Despair starts to lodge itself deep in his chest,  _maybe I’m already too late. Maybe I’ve already failed._

“Aaaaaah,” just as he is giving into a cold dread he hears a sharp blood curdling scream. It’s wordless and so loud it almost shocks him.

More wordless yelling follows, Daven turns toward the commotion and follows the sound. The twisting maze of white marble garden walls and vines opens up into a vast courtyard with a single massive fountain in the center. He was back in Seven-Cherubs-and-a-Deer courtyard, of course.

He turns around and looks at Ellis’s tree, but sees nothing, the shrill voice cries out from the other side of the area.

“He bit me,” a man howls and Daven spots a short man with a sword at his side, he’s holding his bleeding hand and fussing with it. “The little bastard bit me.” A familiar figure stands next to the bleeding man.

Daven’s eyes go wide and he strides in the direction of the fellows, “What are you two doing?” He bellows, he spots a massive stuffed sack on the other man’s back. “What the fuck have you done?”

Thatch turns toward him in a mild leisurely manner, “Daven, my boy,” he grins, “And here I heard you had skipped town completely! Good to see you.”

Daven’s teeth gnashed and every instinct in him told him to skewer this man, “Where did you get those?” He points dangerously at the bag on Thatch’s shoulder. The ends of several feathers stuck out the top of the flap. “Where is Ellis?” His voice is low and much calmer than he felt.  
“Who?” Thatch seems nonplussed, “If you mean the Princeling, it’s nothing to worry about now. Did you come back to take some of the glory?” He laughs, “I’m afraid all the actions over.”

“Yeah,” the other man was bandaging his bleeding hand, “fucker got in a few licks but-”

“Where. Is. He?” Daven’s sword is in his hand, though he doesn’t remember drawing it.

Thatch takes a step back from the end of Daven’s sword, “You youth are so all over the place.” He mutters flippantly.

“Where is he Thatch?” He screams and takes a step forward.

“Does it matter? I made the world a better place and the rest of us dead rich.” He winks, “You did help us so I suppose we can give you a few, no need for swordplay.”

 _Made the world a better place_ , the words ring through his head. Something had happened.

Daven’s eyes go wide, “Ah!”

He lunges at Thatch, aiming for his heart, but Thatch is quicker, he side-steps the point and hops a few paces backward. He is obviously agile and has enough experience under his belt.

Daven pivots on his heel, preparing to strike again, and then he sees it: a larger pool of blood trailing just around the corner. That couldn’t be from the man’s hand- there was too much.

His spirit leaves his body for a moment and he staggers in place, “What have you done…?”

He struggles a moment between Thatch and the blood, weighed-down by a staggering flood of emotions. Following the blood wins out. Daven runs toward the trail, “Thatch,” he yells over his shoulder, “This isn’t over.”

“I said you could have some,” Thatch calls after him, “And then thank me later. Though he’s a bit of a mess right now, not much fun for your revenge.”

Daven blocks out his words,  _Ellis, Ellis, Ellis._ He has to concentrate, even if his vision is filled with a burning red aimed at Thatch.

“Ellis!” He calls hoarsely, “God,” his voice croaks, “Please,” he says more softly as he slows down, “Ellis.” The trail goes up a narrow walled passage, the white of the walls reflecting the afternoon sun eating away at his neck.

The red is a bright stain across the ground, small dots and occasional pools leading toward a dead end.

The blood dots it’s way to end of the hall and then stops, Daven purses his lips and looks in either direction, trying to figure out where in the world he could have gone.

“Don’t take another step,” a weak voice hails him.

Daven turns around in a single fluid motion and realizes a figure had snuck behind him. A wobbling, swaying figure with his face scrunched up in immense pain. He is somehow holding a silver dagger in his wet red hands, barely.

“Oh thank God,” he takes a step toward Ellis and then freezes.

Ellis’s shoulders are slick with drying blood, his face is as pale and hollow as the moon, and he’s holding himself at an awkward angle. Constant sickening red droplets trail down his pants legs and pool in his shoes and on the ground.

Daven drops his sword and reaches out for him, “They’ve hurt you.”

“Don’t take a step further,” Ellis rasps, his eyes unfocused and stance buckling in on itself. “I’m… serious.”

Daven lunges to catch him as the boy collapses in place, he holds him up as Ellis’s body gives folds into him. Daven holds him up by the underarms. And then he sees what they had done to his back.

Something delicately breaks within him, “Oh no.”

Bloody, mauled flesh covers Ellis’s back in sliced ribbons, shredded and hacked all across the muscle and leaving his skin in raw strips, a warpath across his body. They had cut all his feathers off by force.

Daven can’t breath, he squeezes his eyes shut as water gathers, “I’m sorry,” tears stream down his cheeks, “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t say it enough, it would never be enough.

“Hush,” Ellis whispers and adjusts himself, kneeling painfully to look Daven in the face, “This was always going to be my fate. Ever since the witch walked into my life.”

Daven turns to him, trying to cradle his bruised face in his hands, “I should have never let them do this to you.” His head drops, “I should have never come.”

Ellis shakes his head, “Are you going to make my death about you?” The boy manages a thin smile that ends in a wince and more tears spring from Daven’s eyes.

“I’m going to kill them.” He swears, a deep growl in his throat.  
Ellis exhales, “Do you want to hear a story?” He asks weakly. “It’s a bit about murder.” Ellis closes his eyes, “I’m sorry too.”

“What?” Daven cradles him closer, being careful not to brush against his battered flesh.

Ellis rests his head against Daven’s chest, “She had a son too you know.” He exhales as if burdened by a stone on his chest. “The forest witch. She had a son.”

Daven curls his body around him, “Wait, Ellis, I should… We should. Do something.”

“Just listen,” Ellis snaps, but with not much heat in it. “His name was Sullivan and he was very dark and handsome, funny. Bad at art, good with his hands. And I made this whole mess Daven. I made it with my own two hands.”

Daven frowns deeply, “Ellis…” It’s almost a warning.

“He was handsome and good, and I couldn’t stop myself. It was never Sullivan’s fault.” Ellis looks down and off to the side, “I fully knew my father was losing it. And I knew very l well how he felt about me.”

Daven’s hands curl around him, “Please,” he almost begs, “wait, you can tell me all your secrets later,” he moves to stand up. “I promise I’ll swoon for them, be absolutely blown away. But… we have to get you somewhere.” He pleads.

Ellis sags, “There’s nowhere to go.”

“I can,” Daven holds him closer, “I can try.”

Ellis sighs and meets Daven’s eyes, “This garden was grown from the witch’s grief. After my father executed her son for sleeping with the crown prince.” Ellis closes his eyes slowly, as if resting them. “If you see the Hunter. Tell him I’m sorry.” He whispers, “Tell him he didn’t need to find me someone to lift this nonsense,” Ellis goes limp in his arms, “Tell him it… was always going to end this way.”

Daven’s eyes go wide, “Ellis,” he starts to shake him, “Ellis, fuck, stop it! I’m going to… We’re going to get you help.” He starts dragging him again, he feels a weak hand on his chest.

“Here,” Ellis murmurs and his bloody hands push something at Daven, “The last one. Do something nice with it.”

Sweat was beaded on Ellis’s forehead, his eyes are closing, Daven’s starts to hyperventilate as he watches the other boys head lull back. His whole body goes limp in his arms.  
“No,” he gasps, “No!”

A single bloody feather falls out of Ellis’s hand and lands on the ground. It was the last one.

Daven collapses and paws at the stream of tears that flow down his face,  _I couldn’t save him._  Daven folds into himself, _I couldn’t save him!_

His chest hallows out.

Daven lays Ellis’s limp body gently on the ground and hangs his head, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should never have even taken the first feather.”

Daven is overwhelmed by a sudden shocking grief, something aches in him that he didn’t know existed. The soft look on Ellis’s face when he protected him the fog, the way he looked as he whispered about baths or perfumes or whatever else. The teasing, the smug smile, the everything.

Daven reaches for the last feather, just one feather left. Then something hits him across the face.

_One. For health._

The feathers, the first one he got.  _One: for health._

Daven grasps the final feather in his hand and turns to Ellis, he sees a shallow rise and fall of the other boys chest. “It’s not too late.” He whispers.

Daven stuffs the feather into his mouth and begins to chew. It was crunchy and unwieldy in his mouth, a strange stiffness that forced his teeth to grind down painfully. He expects it to taste like copper and must, instead, it is bright- like morning sun or cool harvest afternoons. The way heather smells or a little warm drizzle across the skin. He feels the magic course through his veins, touching every nerve in his body with a soft pulse.

He chews the feather into a fine pulp and leans down, _please._ He begs the unknown, _let this work, I don’t have to be a hero. I just need this to work._

Daven presses his salty cracked lips onto Ellis’s, tilting his chin up and gently opening his mouth, pressing the pulp between his lips. It’s nothing like a kiss should be, but he closes his eyes and pretends, pretends it’s a storybook, pretends witches and kings and curses can be overcome.

 _Let this work._  He tries to make the world spin backward for him, just this once.

Daven tilts Ellis’s head up and messages his throat to help the paste go down, waiting for it to work it’s magic in his body. To make anything happen.

Daven waits.

He looks Ellis up and down, one hand on his wrist to feel for the fluttering faint pulse. Strangled breaths leave him as he counts down from a hundred.

Ellis’s pulse is almost nonexistent, Daven’s tears fall freely on the lifeless body in front of him, he counts. It is over.

The first breath sounds like a drowned man coming to land and then the second one like a dream- the type of dream that aren’t supposed to happen but do.  
Ellis jerks upward, eyes flying open and coloring returning to his cheeks all at once, eyes clearing over to a perfect crystal green and skin mending. Daven watches in awe as his back starts lacing back together, like a rapid spiderweb being built across his exposed muscles.

Life returns to him.

Daven’s entire body drops, his arms fall to his side, his face falls open, he rocks down to the ground and exhales. He wipes at his soggy cheeks as Ellis takes deep, huffing breaths.

“What,” he inhales sharply and looks around, “What the hell just happened.”

Daven sniffs loudly, “I think I just paid you back.”

Ellis looks up, slowly, uncertainly, “You,” his mouth forms a perfect circle, he quickly feels for his back, searching for something. “You did this.”

Daven crumples backward, “Don’t mention it.” He says with a tired smile, “Seriously.” He put his hand out, “I owe you.”

Ellis blinks so slowly Daven thinks he might be going comatose. He tilts his chin up, “Why?”

Daven looks up at the pure blue sky, “I dunno.” He says confidently this time, “Maybe even cocky boys trapped in gardens deserve second chances.”

Ellis hides his face for a moment, “I’m not,” he feels for his back again, “it’s gone.”

Daven crawls over to him, “Look at that. You might be human again,” he offers his hand up, “Perhaps.”

Ellis looks at his hand openly, “Do you think that means…” He feels across his back once more, he blinks, “Is the rest of it lifted?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Daven says somberly and his eyes dart toward where the front gates would be.

Ellis looks over to him cautiously, almost shyly, “Everyone I know is gone.” He whispers and holds himself carefully in place.

“You know me,” Daven wiggles his fingers, “And I don’t have a lot of friends right now either frankly.”

Ellis tilts his chin up and reaches tentatively toward him, “I’m not sure if I can be friends with boys who enjoy kissing corpses.”

“Heh,” Daven gives a brief laugh, “Well I hear you like secrets,” he says cheekily, “that one can be just between us.”

Ellis laughs, a real shining laugh, “Alright. One of many.” He takes his hand and Daven guides him up to his feet again. “If you’d like.” His voice is small again.

“Sure.” Daven taps their heads together, “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”

The widest smile he’s ever seen spreads across Ellis’s face, “Lord yes.” He squeezes his hand, as if he might float off otherwise. Ellis takes a moment, just a moment, to stand there.

“Ellis?” Daven asks as the other boy stands in front of him so awkwardly and unmoving.

It happens all at once, he leans in close and wraps his arms around his body.

“Thanks,” he pecks him quickly on the mouth, it’s warm and brief. Like a lightning bug’s sudden flash, lighting up against the dark night sky like a tiny firework. Ellis looks away, “Being dead was very boring.”

Daven touches his mouth and tries not to smile, “Noted.”

Ellis tugs on his sleeve, “And don’t get that silly look on your face.” He orders, “I don’t fancy romantics.”

He grabs his hand and smiles freely this time, “That’s too bad.” He wraps an arm around him, “because this is how all my sister’s romance stories go.”

Ellis laughs as he picks him up, “Of all the idiots to save me…” He spins him around in the air and the sun hits their backs, Ellis clings to him and this isn’t the boy he met all those weeks ago.

Thatch and his men escape- running off just as something in the air shifted, but that was a problem for another day. Daven returns to the front gates, this time with Ellis.

 _It’s beautiful,_  he thinks as he looks over his shoulders at the white gardens.  _It’s all so beautiful._

Ellis takes takes his hand, he’s shaking slightly, they look back out toward the waiting forest. “Are you scared?”

“No.” He clamps down on his hand and Ellis glances over at him, “Maybe.”

Daven takes a deep breath, “Come on,” he says patiently, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Ellis straightens up, smile fading, “I’ve been ready… for a long time.” He takes the first steps.

Ellis leads the way, light, glowing, featherless, he takes them through the gates and they walk back out into the world together.


End file.
